Tom and Ray stayed behind at the scene with a team of uniforms as Vincent Carney was taken to headquarters. Laura and Michael would conduct an initial interview to see if he was willing to talk, while his house and land were searched.
The inspector felt his pulse quicken as they walked towards the house – both from the lingering memory of being shot at and the possibility that they might find Fiona Holland there.
‘There are a lot of outhouses,’ Ray said. ‘Plenty of places to hide somebody.’
Tom murmured agreement. He prayed they’d find Fiona alive. She’d disappeared less than two weeks ago and they’d speculated about the possibility of the killer keeping his victims alive for a period of months. But everything felt wrong about this situation. Why had Carney given himself up? What had he done in the intervening period between shooting at them and Healy’s arrival?
Hopefully, he hadn’t been tidying up loose ends.
They split up to conduct the search. Tom and Ray took the main house. They ripped up all the downstairs carpets, but found nothing. The only space inside the house to hide somebody was the attic, and that was empty bar old cardboard boxes and bin bags stuffed with clothes.
The house was clean and tidy inside, if old-fashioned. The curtains, flooring and furnishings all dated to the seventies.
They found a stash of pornography in what appeared to be Carney’s bedroom.
‘It’s pretty normal stuff,’ Ray said, flicking through the magazine he was holding. ‘He’s a boobs man. Nothing hardcore.’
The inspector walked to the next room. The prospect of finding Fiona here was diminishing with each passing moment. He opened the second bedroom door and froze.
A cold chill crept down his back as he took in the sight before him.
‘How long ago did Charlie Lane say Carney’s folks had died?’ he called out to Ray.
‘Ten years.’ His deputy appeared behind him.
Tom walked into the room to give him a better view.
‘Jesus Christ,’ Ray whispered. ‘Looks like we’ve stumbled into the Bates Motel.’
To the unsuspecting visitor, the room would have seemed perfectly normal.
Only those who knew how long Carney’s parents were dead would find it disturbing.
The large divan was covered with a floral bedspread. Blush-pink curtains were open at the window; a deep-pile beige rug sat atop a rose-coloured carpet. A dressing table was covered with various perfume bottles, make-up and ladies’ accessories. Beside that stood an old trouser press, a pair of grey slacks draped over its wooden top.
Two outfits had been laid out on the bed. A billowy teal dress, beside a set of off-white older woman’s pants and a bra; and a gentleman’s dark suit, over a pale blue dress shirt.
‘This is messed up,’ Ray said. He walked into the en suite. ‘He has the toothbrushes laid out beside the toothpaste. It’s all ready to go. There are glasses of water on the bedside lockers. What was he at? Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’
‘What?’
‘Did he bring the women here and make them play at being Mammy and Daddy?’
‘We need to talk to Linda,’ Tom said. ‘Either he really misses his folks, or your theory is correct.’
They went downstairs and checked with Ian Kelly to establish what was happening in the search of the rest of the property.
Nothing had been found in any of the buildings outside.
‘We’ll leave you in charge of the grounds search,’ the inspector told Ian. ‘We need to get back to HQ and have a chat with the suspect. I’ll take that chap’s jeep back up to the garden centre and collect my car.’
‘Anything upstairs?’ Ian asked.
Tom and Ray exchanged a glance.
‘Best you take a look yourself,’ Ray said. ‘Just so you know, if you find any mummified remains of an elderly man and woman about the place – that’ll be Carney’s folks.’
‘He’s refusing to talk to us.’ Michael greeted them with the bad news when they landed back in headquarters. ‘If you ask me, he doesn’t seem right in the head. Did you find anything out at the house?’
‘Not what we were expecting,’ Tom replied.
The inspector had taken pictures on his phone inside the sinister bedroom and sent them through to Linda McCarn, then rang her as they drove to explain their context.
‘Is that the behaviour of a serial killer?’ Tom asked.
‘It could be,’ she said. ‘You’d be surprised, though, at the many strange ways people deal with grief. If the man’s parents committed suicide, the shock of that could have led to a reaction that strikes you or me as odd. But he’s not alone. There are so many people who, when loved ones die, won’t throw out their clothes and belongings and yes, sometimes they even keep their rooms exactly as they were before they died. Leaving out the clothes is peculiar but again, it might just be a symptom of a mind greatly disturbed by sudden loss. It seems strange to you because of the context in which you were searching his house but he could just be in denial.
‘Of course, serial killers are extremely sick individuals. If it is Carney, who knows what games he plays with his victims? We don’t know why he keeps the women so long – it might be that he’s making them take on the role of his mother.’
‘Ray said it reminded him of – what’s it called, Ray? Psycho, that was it. Norman Bates.’
‘Darling, you do know that’s a film, right?’ Linda snorted. ‘Sorry, I’m being facetious. Many movies about serial killers are based on real-life killers. Look, I’m due to give a lecture now, but I’ll rush it and get to headquarters straight after. I’ll brief you on what to ask and watch in on your interview with Carney. See if he gives anything away.’
But according to Michael, Vincent wouldn’t be giving them anything.
‘Where’s Laura?’ Ray asked.
‘She’s on a call,’ said Michael. ‘Said she had to follow up on something from Cork.’
Ray had been hoping to see her. During their quick call earlier he’d heard real concern in her voice (she’d even got round to asking after Tom). He’d mentioned that he wanted to talk to her later. He was determined to lay all his cards on the table, as soon as he got the opportunity – and before his nerve left him.
‘Has Carney asked for a solicitor?’ Tom queried.
‘Not yet.’
‘Have one on standby, just in case. I don’t want to be accused of not doing this by the book.’
They made their way to the interview room, grabbing coffees en route. Neither man had eaten since that morning and Ray, despite and perhaps because of the burst of energy during the afternoon, was flagging from his lack of sleep the previous night.
‘We’ll speak to him, then you head home,’ Tom told his deputy.
Ray nodded and gulped the coffee in the hope that it would perk him up.
Carney’s hands were cuffed. He’d placed them on the table and rested his head down between his arms onto its cool surface.
The inspector placed the third coffee he’d picked up in front of the suspect.
‘Sorry. Wasn’t sure what you drank, so I just got you what I was having. Hope you like milk in it.’
He stared at the top of the man’s head, the mousy brown hair greasy and matted to his skull. Tom had yet to get a proper look at Carney. It was hard to register somebody’s facial features when they were pointing a shotgun at you.
The man looked up, his pale blue eyes expressionless. He had small, almost feminine features – plump red lips, eyelashes so dark they appeared as though he was wearing mascara, soft, fleshy white cheeks.
He looked like he wouldn’t hurt a fly.
‘Told the girl,’ he croaked. ‘The pretty one, with the curly hair. I’ll only speak to Bart. Get me Bart.’
Ray flinched at Carney’s mention of Laura. He didn’t want this attempted rapist thinking of her as pretty.
‘Bart isn’t coming,’ Tom said. ‘Why don’t you talk to us, Vincent?’
‘Nope.’
The man put his head on the table again.
‘You’re aware that you can have a legal representative present for this interview, aren’t you?’ Tom confirmed.
Nothing.
The inspector lowered his voice and spoke again, very gently.
‘You’re in a lot of trouble, Vincent. You shot at members of An Garda Síochána. That’s a really serious offence. Don’t make this any worse for yourself. Why did you fire the gun at us?’
The other man remained silent.
‘We found your mother and father’s room,’ Tom said. ‘You’ve kept it lovely for them, Vincent. I imagine they’d be very proud of you.’
The man stirred. He lifted his head a few inches from the table and peered at Tom from under wet lashes. He was crying.
‘You think I’m a retard, don’t you?’
The inspector shook his head.
Any engagement was good. Just get him talking.
‘Why would I think that?’
‘They all do. Up in the village. They think I’m slow. Especially the …’
‘Who, Vincent?’
He’d clamped his lips shut again. Carney’s words were slow, his speech deliberate. The man did come across as having some sort of intellectual incapacity, but it could all be an act.
Tom took a deep breath. His parents. That was the key.
‘Your folks didn’t think you were slow.’
Vincent shook his head.
‘Nope. They loved me.’
‘And you loved them. Is that why you keep their room so nice? Do you think they’ll come back?’
The other man’s face was scornful.
‘Can’t come back. They’re dead. ‘m not stupid.’
‘I know. It’s just, sometimes, when we lose somebody, it can be very hard to let them go. To accept that they’re not going to return. Especially when they die unexpectedly. Your parents died suddenly, didn’t they?’
‘’Twas an accident. They didn’t mean to. Mammy and Daddy wouldn’t have wanted to leave me. I just like to keep their stuff nice. So they’ll know. Up in heaven, like. I’m a good man.’
Tears welled in Carney’s eyes again and he tried to wipe them, awkwardly, because his wrists were bound.
‘Ray, take those cuffs off,’ Tom said.
His deputy circled the table and removed the restraints.
Carney kept his eyes on Tom. When the cuffs were off, he rubbed his wrists and reached out for the drink. He raised it to his lips, then screwed up his face with distaste.
‘Bitter,’ he said, spitting the liquid back into the cup.
‘Sorry,’ Tom said. ‘Our canteen isn’t the best. Will I send for some sugar?’
‘Never had coffee before. Mammy didn’t like me to have it. Tea with two sugars and a hot cocoa at night.’
‘I see.’
Ray stood again and opened the interview-room door.
‘Can we get a tea with two sugars, please?’ he asked the guard outside.
‘There, we’ll get you sorted,’ Tom said.
The other man blinked. He bowed his head, a sign of gratitude.
‘Sorry I shot at you. I was scared. I wouldn’t have hurt you.’
‘You didn’t just miss, then?’ the inspector probed. ‘You knew what you were doing?’
Carney snorted.
‘Never miss.’
That solved one puzzle.
‘Vincent, you’ve been questioned by the guards before, haven’t you? You were even convicted for assaulting a girl.’
Carney shrugged.
‘I didn’t mean to do nothing bad. I’m a good-looking man. Mammy always told me. I have a house. ‘m not stuck for money. I can get married. I was telling the girl that. I did nothing wrong. I just wanted to have sex. But she got upset.’
‘When you said the people in the village made fun of you – who in particular upset you?’
A pause.
‘All the girls. Mammy said I’d be a heartbreaker when I grew up. But I’m not. They laugh. When I try to buy them a drink or kiss them, they laugh and push me away. Call me names. “Fucking retard”. “Stupid ‘capper”.’
‘Did Fiona Holland call you names?’
Vincent stared down at the table.
‘She had pretty hair. I touched it. I wanted to hold her. But I made a mistake.’
‘What was that, now?’
‘I called her Fi.’
‘What was wrong with that?’ The inspector leaned forward in his seat, barely able to breathe. He didn’t know if this was a confession to the incident last year, or something more recent. ‘What did she do when you touched her?’
‘She spat at me. “Only my fucking family call me Fi, you fucking loser. Get off me.” Pushed me away.’
‘And what did you do, then?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Nothing? You didn’t push her back? It sounds like she was very mean to you, Vincent. Didn’t you want to hurt her, like she’d hurt you?’
Carney shook his head adamantly.
‘Didn’t want to hurt her. I’d never hurt a girl. Mammy said real men don’t hit girls. I wouldn’t have hurt Fiona. You think I killed her, don’t you? He said. I’m not talking to you. Want Bart.’
‘Is Bart your friend?’
‘He’s my pal. Gives me beer and magazines. I’ll talk to Bart. Only him.’
Tom tried a few more tacks but realised after a few minutes that they were getting nowhere.
They left Carney and made their way to the incident room.
Linda and Laura were waiting for them.
The inspector turned to Ray.
‘Go home,’ he said. ‘I’ll finish up. You’re exhausted. We can resume with Carney in the morning, maybe get Healy in and see if he’ll tell him something he won’t tell us.’
Ray met Laura’s eye. He really wanted to talk to her, but didn’t see how he could with everybody still around. Deflated, he turned on his heel.
He’d made it a few steps down the hall when he heard his name being called. Laura had stepped out of the room and was walking towards him.
‘Hi,’ he said, walking back to her. She’d plaited her unruly curls and was fiddling with the hair poking out at the end of the bobbin. It made her look younger, and nervous. Ray’s heart beat faster.
‘Good to see you made it out of the O.K. Corral,’ she said. ‘You had us all worried there for a bit.’
He smiled, shyly.
‘Tom is sending me home.’
‘I heard him. Sorry I made you drive back up from Cork last night. It wasn’t fair. I got a kip in the car, but you must be wrecked.’
‘Ah, I’m okay. Can we, eh, catch up tomorrow?’
‘Sure.’ Laura sounded uncertain. What did he mean by catch up? On the day’s events, or something else? He’d said he wanted to talk to her earlier. She’d thought he meant something serious.
He, in turn, studied her face, watching as her expression transformed from hope to confusion to disappointment.
It was like somebody had opened the curtains and let light stream into the room. Ray felt like smacking himself on the head.
Jesus, he’d been an idiot. Tom was right. All this time, Laura hadn’t gone off him. She’d just been waiting.
‘I’d really like it if we could …’
‘Laura! Where are you?’ the inspector yelled from inside the meeting room.
She shrugged at Ray and made to go back in the door, but he grabbed her arm.
‘Wait. He can wait. I’d like it … will you … shit! Come for a drink with me when all this calms down. Just us. Alone. I mean, I’d like to spend some time with you. If that’s okay with you.’
At last. He’d put it out there. Clumsily, but he’d said it.
Laura’s face flushed, the corners of her lips tugging upwards.
‘I’d like that,’ she said. She turned and headed back into the incident room.
Ray felt his heart soar. He made his way down the corridor, a bounce in his step.
‘Over here, Laura,’ Tom said and beckoned her into the far corner. She perched on the desk beside him and Linda, feeling almost giddy at what had just happened and trying not to give anything away.
‘Well, Linda, what did you think?’
‘He’s a disturbed man, that’s not in doubt,’ the psychologist replied. ‘It may be an act, but he really does appear to have an intellectual disability of some sort. You’ll need to requisition his medical records to establish it for certain – though it might not be as clear cut as that.’
‘Meaning?’
‘A mild mental condition could have gone unnoticed. He’s what? Mid-thirties? The state wasn’t as good at spotting this stuff back in the eighties, when he was a child and should have been diagnosed. He may have been pegged as a bit slow, a tad peculiar.’
‘I don’t think he’s faking it,’ Tom said. ‘That doesn’t mean he’s not our man, but my instincts are telling me he’s not capable of what this killer has done. I can’t see him being organised enough.’
‘If he’s faking it, he absolutely is your man, because that was a compelling performance. He has me convinced, initially in any case. But I’ll sit down with him myself and study him for a bit. It’s very difficult to maintain an act for any length of time under close supervision.’
The inspector stroked his beard.
‘We’ll get the ball rolling on his medical records tomorrow. It’s late now and I can’t think any more without some dinner. Laura, what were you following up on in Cork?’
‘Something Elizabeth Lehane said, but I won’t know anything definite until the morning. I have somebody down there checking it out for me.’
‘Let’s call it a day, then. They found nothing in the search of Carney’s property after we left, so if he did take Fiona, he brought her somewhere else. Maybe his pal Healy knows where. We’ll find out tomorrow.’